


Empty

by Freshwaterbears



Category: Sherlock TV
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Rape, Teenlock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 22:52:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16861564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freshwaterbears/pseuds/Freshwaterbears
Summary: Sherlock is a new student and is reunited with his boyfriend, Victor. What happens when Sherlock finds himself intrigued by the biology teacher that goes by the name of Mr. Watson?





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this fic has not been edited at all. This is sort of stream of consciousness writing. I’m trying to improve my writing, so I guess it would help to write stories about my favourite Baker Street boys. Critical feedback would be nice, but please be nice as it is my first fic.

“Victor...” Sherlock moans softly.

Fingertips dance around Sherlock’s thigh, drifting higher and higher.

Sherlock bites his lip, stifling any sounds that may pass. He shivers in anticipation and fear of being caught. His eyes are downcast, eyelashes fanning over.

From afar, Sherlock hears a voice.

“Good day, class.” Says a voice.

“I hope you all have had a wonderful long weekend.” He continues.

“Before we begin, I believe that we have a new student here today.” He says while he scans the class, looking for an unfamiliar face.

Sherlock abruptly pushes Victor’s hand away before nodding at the teacher and making his way towards the front of the classroom.

“Hello, Sherlock.” John begins.

“My name is Mr. Watson and I will be your biology teacher and your counsellor for the rest of the year.” John says with a smile.

“Please introduce yourself to the class.” He says.

Sherlock begins to list mundane facts about himself while stealing glances at Mr. Watson.  
Fit, he thinks to himself. Most likely the coach of the rugby team. Greying sideburns and wrinkles around the eyes. Hm... approximately 26 tears old. Lives alone... kind eyes... likes to help people.

After two minutes, Sherlock is back at his desk and timidly smiles at his boyfriend.

“You were so fucking cute up there, Baby.” Victor says.

Sherlock looks up at Victor and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

As the lesson progresses, Sherlock is entranced by his new biology teacher. He can’t help but to notice every little nook and cranny about Mr. Watson. On more than one occasion, they both make eye contact and it lingers for much longer than necessary.

Sherlock does not mind.

Sherlock also does not notice the fact that Victor has been watching him the entire time.

Time flies by much faster than Sherlock had anticipated. He is left wanting more time with his new teacher, so he puts his books away slowly, savouring every moment near Mr. Watson. 

He’s snapped out of his trance when he feels a strong hand gripping his forearm. Sherlock looks up to see an infuriated Victor staring down at him.

“What’s your problem, Vic?” Sherlock snaps. 

He glances over to make sure that Mr. Watson does not hear them. 

“My problem?” Victor hisses. 

“Don’t think for one second that I didn’t see you eye-fucking Mr. Watson over there.” He continues, mouth curled into a frown.

The grip tightens and Sherlock feels his cuts being aggravated from the friction against his polyester shirt.

“I’ve had it.” Vic snaps.

Victor tightens his grip further to pull Sherlock out of the classroom and into the nearest washroom. He locks the washroom door from the inside before pushing Sherlock into the largest cubicle.

“You fucking slut!.” Victor taunts.

“Whoring around in front of your boyfriend!?”

“Can’t you see that I’m the only one who will ever love you?!” He continues.

Sherlock feels the cold wall pressed right against his cheek and he closes his eyes as Victor pushes his body flush against Sherlock’s. 

There’s a brief pause from the verbal abuse and Sherlock slightly opens his eyes and turns his head towards Victor.

The look on Victor’s face is that of sympathy and grief.

Sherlock feels a hand softly brush his curls and he does not know whether to lean into the hand or to remain completely still.

He chooses the latter because he fears that moving at all will anger Victor further. He feels trapped, like an animal in a cage.

“I don’t want to be like this.” Victor says softly.

“I’m sor-“ Sherlock begins.

“But you leave me no choice.” Victor cuts in.

“You make me this way.” Victor finishes.

The sympathy that was in Victor’s eyes are no longer present. They have been replaced with ones that hold no emotion and a sense of purpose. The hand in Sherlock’s hair has stilled.

Sherlock knows that he’s made a mistake. He has learned from experience that Victor is a jealous person. Sherlock knows that Victor is not to be crossed. He also knows what happens when he makes a mistake.

He gets punished.

Waiting for the inevitable, Sherlock takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Bend over.” Victor says softly.

Before Sherlock is able to respond, he is forcefully pushed over and he grapples onto the toilet seat for balance.

This is new, Sherlock thinks to himself.  
Usually it’s just verbal abuse and a slap on the wrist.

I’m scared, he thinks.

He closes his eyes tighter when he feels hands on his belt and then a cold breeze over his bare bottom.

So far, nothing has been going as Sherlock had expected. He felt his mind palace go completely blank. 

Suddenly there was immense pain and a stinging sensation on Sherlock’s butt cheeks.  
Sherlock called out, but a hand was placed over his mouth to muffle his screams of pain.

The spanks continued for what felt like forever. Sherlock opened his eyes and saw his knuckles, white from gripping hard onto the toilet seat. He felt his body tremble. For once he was not able to control his reactions. 

“No one will ever love you like I do, Sherlock.”

Victor began unbuckling his jeans and dropping them down to his ankles.

“You need to be more faithful, Sherlock.”

Victor placed his member over Sherlock’s entrance.

At this point, tears were falling freely from Sherlock’s eyes. He was speechless and felt as though he had lost all control over his life.

“You know I love you, right?” Victor said softly.

Sherlock cried further and muffled whimpers could be heard.

Victor slammed his cock forcefully into Sherlock.

“ANSWER ME!” Victor bellows into Sherlock’s ear.

With a muffled scream of “yes!”, Sherlock nods his head profusely, matted curls bouncing erratically. He is beyond scared because he has never gone this far with Victor. He feels violated in so many ways.

Victor continuously pulls out and slams back in. 

“You deserve this.” Victor moans.

“Hell, I bet you’re even enjoying this.”

This goes on for a while until he loses all sense of himself and begins to speed up.  
Hard and fast, it feels like bliss for Victor, but feels like pure agony for Sherlock. 

Victor finally climaxes and he slowly pulls out of Sherlock’s hole for the final time. He cleans himself off and scowls down and Sherlock’s quivering form. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made” Victor drawled with a bored expression.

Sherlock continues to hold onto the toilet cover because it’s the only thing he’s got control over. He feels the mixture of cum and blood leaking through his hole and down his legs. Oddly enough, he wishes that Victor was still inside of him because now he feels mentally and physically empty. 

He receives a few hard kicks to his ribs, but at this point, he’s too exhausted to care.

Victor promptly exits the washroom, leaving Sherlock all alone.

Is this what love feels like? Sherlock thought.  
Because if it is, then I’d rather die.

He closes his eyes and promises himself that it will just be for a minute or two.

The next thing he knows, he wakes up to the sound of a door opening and he looks down at his watch.

He slept for 30 minutes.

Sherlock mentally cursed at himself for being so careless.

The door to his cubicle suddenly opens and John stands there shocked.

What John feels at the moment is a mixture of anger, frustration, sympathy, and sadness. There is so much that is wrong with this picture. Sherlock’s crumpled figure with his pants partly on and his trousers down to his ankles. There’s is so much blood, so much that it is surprising how Sherlock is still conscious.

John looks towards Sherlock’s face and all he sees is emptiness. 

Sherlock refuses to look at John’s eyes... his caring eyes because he does not wants to see the look of pity.

Sherlock curls in further and tries to make himself as small as he can manage without disturbing his bruised ribs.

“Please leave, Mr. Watson.” Sherlock says groggily.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” Sherlock hides his face.

John is speechless, but he realizes that he has to do something to help the poor boy in front of him.

He kneels down towards Sherlock and refrains from touching him without asking first.

“Sherlock, I’m going to pull your trousers up and then carry you to my car.” John says softly.

“From there, I’m going to bring you to a hospital because I’m quite sure that you need stitches.”

Oh fuck this man for all his kindness, Sherlock thinks. Why is he so nice to me? Maybe he just wants sex. Maybe I’m just nothing but a tool to be used. Even so, it’s better than being alone.

Sherlock continues to mentally degrade himself and then he hears the car door open.

“We’re here.” John says and for once Sherlock is able to look into John’s eyes.

They’re kind with a sprinkle of sadness.

Sherlock smiles and slowly drifts off. He feels like sleep is finally peaceful.

Everything is white and bright, Sherlock notes.  
Am I finally dead? Sherlock questions.

No, idiot. This is a hospital. It smells too sterile to be paradise.

He feels pressure on his left palm. He opens his eyes and sees a calloused hand running soft circles on his palm.

He looks up at John, but John is looking down at Sherlock’s arms that are littered with overlapping vertical and horizontal lines of various healing stages. Some are newer and more of an angry shade of red due to Victor’s rough handling.

Sherlock looks down as well and realizes just how much of a damaged person he is.

They make eyes contact and John softens his gaze.

“Hey there, Sherlock.”

Pulling his arm away, Sherlock hides it under the covers from John.

John furrows his brow and pauses before he brushes a stray curl away from Sherlock’s face.

“I wish that I was there to stop you from putting those there.” John nods towards the hidden arms.

“You seem like such a brilliant soul.” John slightly taps at Sherlock’s temple.

Sherlock leans into the hand and says

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Mr. Watson.”

John smiled yet again and responds with

“Maybe not, but I believe in you Sherlock.”

“And please, call me John.” He says.

Someone believes in him and for now that’s all he really needs... for now.


End file.
